The End of It All
by Soyokaze
Summary: What the title implies. Probably not how Gosho imagines it.


Because I suppose I, like Gosho Aoyama, see Heiji Hattori as the one most likely to be injured in any given dangerous situation.

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The End of it All

By Soyokaze

The beams from the flashlights outside pierced the darkness like spectres of light, flitting in and out, ominous and terrifying. Outside, in the open scrapyard, were at least ten organization operatives, armed with guns, knives, and a lack of conscience, and inside the small dilapidated shed were the four boys they were intent on torturing and/or killing. The empty shed was one of many, and had been the only logical place for the four to take refuge, although all of them suspected that refuge would be short-lived.

Kudou Shinichi, now at his true height and clad in loose black slacks and a shirt with shoulders much too broad to fit him properly, was flattened against a wall next to a window. Kuroba Kaitou, in jeans and tee, stood beside him. While Kaitou's eyes occasionally flitted to the small sliver of the exterior he could see between a thin curtain and the window's frame, his almost-twin's eyes were fixed without exception on a figure lying on the floor near the opposite wall. Hakuba Saguru, in his street clothes, was sitting on his knees, both hands attached to one of Hattori Heiji's. Hakuba had taken up that post because moving Heiji once more had become impossible; there were two bullet wounds in his chest and one in his left thigh. His baseball cap had been lost somewhere along the way. He was conscious, and spitting up blood with each breath, but trying his best to remain silent so no one else would be slaughtered.

The flashlight beams, which had been darting ever closer, now seemed to recede. It was gradual, so gradual in fact that Kaitou was positive he was only imagining it, but the voices and footsteps faded together with the jarring light, and he pressed his ear against the wall, straining for any sign that it was only a trick. Shinichi waited for no signal from him; he rushed to Heiji's side as soon as the light had vanished.

Shinichi put his hands around Hakuba's, and Heiji tilted his head, slowly, painfully, and smiled. The detective of the east suddenly wanted to smack him; this was no time for him to be laughing.

"Shinichi," the dark-skinned boy began, carefully, before Shinichi interrupted him.

"Don't talk, you idiot," he hissed, the threat of tears accompanying the emergence of his voice. "You'll kill yourself."

Heiji's grin widened minutely. "Looks like somebody took care of that for me already."

"Shut up, you're going to be fine," the other detective snapped, frantically holding on to his carefully kept control. "You're going to be fine," he repeated, quietly.

"I want you to tell Kazuha . . ."

"You're going to be fine!" Shinichi snapped again, louder, feeling his eyes burn. Heiji just kept smiling at him. Shinichi felt Hakuba's hand tighten around their dying friend's, and followed suit. There was a moment of silence, and Kaitou left his place by the window to kneel behind Hakuba. The magician's eyes were startlingly somber; the simple, heart-wrenching sadness in them was as evident as the red blood that seeped from the detective's wounds and colored the knees of his jeans. He hated violence, he hated suffering and death for anyone. This was a person he had grown to know and care for, dying on the floor while he could do nothing about it. His tears were swift and silent.

Shinichi's jaw tensed. "Why did you do that? Why would you think-"

"Neesan has to see you."

The detective of the east looked up and met Heiji's green eyes. They were soft and tired, not sharp and clear like they usually were. Heiji weakly squeezed the multitude of fingers entangled with his own.

"Neesan has to see you, the real you, before you die like that. I don't want to see her cry over you, still thinking you've abandoned her."

Shinichi only stared, his lips finding no reply.

Blood spilled out of Heiji's mouth as he spoke his next words.

"Tell Kazuha I love her."

The other detective could no longer mask his grief. He nodded slowly, in acceptance. "Of course."

Heiji tried to inhale for a sigh of relief, but only drew a shallow, quick breath through his pain. "Thanks."

They sat like that, silent in the dark, Hakuba and Shinichi holding on to Heiji's hand, Kaitou crying quietly into his arm, for a few moments, until Heiji's head fell to one side, and his chest stopped moving.

A flashlight flickered briefly in the window.

Hakuba covered his mouth with one hand, his brow furrowing as he looked away from their friends' body. Kaitou's sobs grew deeper, and he was almost sick when he drew his knees close to his chest and discovered them wet with blood.

Kudo Shinichi pulled the semi-automatic pistol out of Hakuba's waistband and headed for the doorway.

He heard Kaitou's vague protest as he swung open the door, but he ignored it as a dull throb in the back of his aching head. Hattori was dead. Searchlights flickered in the distance, far from them. He raised the pistol in the air. He knew how to get their attention. Hattori was dead. He fired three shots in succession into the air, detective's instinct screaming at him to hide, to run, that he was being stupid, to design a plan, to consider the lives of the rest of his friends, but none of it mattered. Ran's face flickered briefly in his mind. Hattori was dead. _And he would still be alive if Shinichi Kudo had never been his confidante._ If Shinichi Kudo was dead, no one else would die.

As he predicted, the searchlights all swung in his direction wildly, a few sharp reports echoing in the night as weapons were reloaded. He held the pistol out toward them, preparing a spray of random fire, and trying to steady his trembling hand, when something gave him pause. A female voice. A familiar female voice.

A light momentarily blinded him as it found its quarry, and several guns swung his way as his possession of a weapon was noted. A second voice, male, middle-aged, and also familiar.

"_Don't shoot!_"

Shinichi suddenly felt numb. His hand slackened and the revolver fell from it, forgotten as Officer Takagi stepped out from behind one of the bright lights. The young officer was instantly at his side as Shinichi felt his knees hit the ground. Part of Shinichi was sure that this was a dream, a figment of his imagination, but the larger part, the logical part, knew it was real and ironic and bitter.

"Officer Takagi," he managed, his voice hoarse, as the man put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, noting the blood on his hands with alarm. Takagi asked him something, but Shinichi couldn't tell what it was. He tried to tell the detective that Hakuba and Kaitou were inside the shed, but he had no idea what came out of his mouth. Then he saw her.

Ran Mouri, the love of his life, the woman he had longed for while trapped in an impossible situation, appeared, like an angel emerging from the blur of bright flashlights. She also tried to say something to him, and cried out his name, and Shinichi forced himself to focus on what the people around him were trying to communicate to him.

". . . all right?" There were tears in her eyes. He looked into them, feeling the sting of grief in his own.

"No," he answered simply.

"Kudo-kun?"

The soft, high voice made Shinichi's heart plummet. Kazuha Toyama, her slender frame outlined by two beams, her eyes searching. She approached them, kneeling by Ran, who had quickly become her best friend, and looked into his eyes.

"Where's Heiji?"

Shinichi felt like he might vomit as she asked the question, but all the words did was unlock the silent tears he had been restraining. Kazuha's green eyes widened, flitting to the shed behind them. Somehow, she knew.

She darted to the door left ajar and made the turn into the room as Shinichi laid his head against Ran's shoulder, covering his tear-filled eyes as he suddenly realized the feeling of purest utter loss. He did not turn, but as he heard Kazuha's scream, the scream of a woman who has lost everything, the scream of a woman who falls to her knees and convulses with agony, he guiltily suffered with her.

"He said," he whispered to the softly sobbing Ran, "he said to tell her . . . he loves her."

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Thanks for reading my (upon review) incredibly depressing one-shot. Cheer up!


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